


Fantastic Beasts Spooktoberfest

by Shampain



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1990s, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Gen, Goldgraves, Halloween, M/M, Prompt Fill, Spooky, prompts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2017-10-29
Packaged: 2019-01-22 19:00:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12488656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shampain/pseuds/Shampain
Summary: In which I fill a bunch of spoopy prompts gathered from my Tumblr. Holla.





	1. Queenie/Jacob - this room is empty, and yet always full

**Author's Note:**

> I decided to do a prompt request thing, because I'm kind of writer's blocky at the moment and prompts are a great way to punch through them. Also this is kind of an apology to my normal readers of _They Call It The Rising Sun_ to give them something to read while I stall on updating that  >.>
> 
> I'm pretty much filling prompts as I begin to get them, so those requests are dictating the ships right now. As a result, the editing is going to be rushed and expect to see mistakes and also silly things. If you want a prompt filled then you can submit according to the rules. [I'm extending to cut off date to October 28!](http://vodkertonic.tumblr.com/post/166642765174/i-got-a-super-nice-anon-today-like-it-made-me)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> requested by gorgoneions on Tumblr

“You need to get him out of your head,” Tina had said. As if he were an object Queenie could wrap in a handkerchief and pull from her skull. Something fragile to put away on a shelf somewhere, gathering dust.

“I know,” Queenie said. “I will.”

She didn't like lying to her sister. Tina was her only champion, her protector against the dark world that besieged them on all sides, but she couldn't help it. She would not get rid of Jacob, not where he lay encased in the pure golden light of her memory – or the shivery glow of the present.

The wind nipped at her heels, quickening her pace. Unfortunately, walking quickly in heels just made the swing of her hips that much more prominent, and she was forced to ignore the leering thoughts on her way past banks and newsstands and men arguing about stocks. It was strange to think it was October, and it had almost been a year since they all had met. For Queenie it seemed much longer; months of waiting in darkness, telling herself to resist him. Though she could see inside of minds she had never truly understood the way women were about men, like they had hooks deep in their hearts and they were being reeled in. It had't made any sense to her. Until Jacob.

The stairs creaked as she made her way up. The building was in shambles, felt like it always had been. Still, it was warm inside from the No-Majs who lived there, filling the building with their lives; dinners and children and the occasional radio. She bathed in it until she came to the door she needed.

It was never locked. With someone like Queenie to look after it, it never needed to be. She stepped inside, casting her gaze around. Such a sad and lonely room, but it was deceiving. It looked empty.

Carefully she went over to the bed, the one place without any dust, and laid down on it. The springs creaked. It was uncomfortable and poked at her between she shoulders. She closed her eyes.

_Can't be late she's already there she's always there first, must be magic, she's magic_

“I can hear you, honey,” she called softly.

She did not open her eyes even as his steps sounded on the floor, the weight of the bed sank beside her and a warm body pressed against her shoulder and the side of her hip. A hand wrapped around hers. She scented the bakery on him, like a glaze of sugar, and smiled.

If she didn't open her eyes, she could tell Tina that this was all a dream.

“It's cold out there,” he said.

“Hush,” she whispered, teasingly. “It's only the ghosts. But there are no ghosts in here.”

'There is,” he replied, surprising her. Her eyelashes flickered just for a moment but she resisted the urge to open them and look at him. “It's us. We come and go. Even when this room is empty, it's full. You haunt me.”

For a moment she squeezed his hand so hard she knew it must have hurt, but he said and did nothing. Queenie felt like her heart was breaking, but she knew it was just getting stronger, taking a hit and building itself back up again.

“I'm no ghost, Jacob,” she said.

_I know I know I know, you are forever, we can be forever_

“Yes,” Queenie said aloud. After that, they did not talk anymore.


	2. Newt/Percival - Kinemortophobia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> requested by lilliephoenix on tumblr. nsfw

He was certain he was going to die until he heard a noise – like a door slamming inwards under the force of a blow. And so he screamed and shouted and banged his fists against his prison until he could hear people outside, the scrape of their boots and their voices calling out to him, asking if he was hurt, what was going on.

And then, the softest voice. “Stand aside.”

The light was blinding, for he had been in the dark so long – a day, perhaps longer, judging by the sting of hunger he felt. But somehow it was the man who caught him as he tumbled forward, out of the coffin, that truly made Newt question his own eyes.

“I've got you, Mr Scamander,” Percival Graves said. The real Graves, the one that Tina had spoken so highly of. “We've all been rather worried.”

.

Tina, apparently, was in Belfast. “She wanted to be here, but now she's spearheading that section of the investigation,” Graves explained. He and Newt were sitting in one of the Leaky Cauldron's few parlours, tending to Newt's injuries. There was a small table between them upon which sat a silver dish full of a pale green, viscous liquid. Graves was very carefully dabbing it onto the robe burns on Newt's wrists. “She asked me to come here as a special favour.”

“Special?”

“I _do_ have other things to do than follow wayward leads,” Graves said. It would have sounded sharp or sardonic from someone else, especially of his authority; but it was instead amused, gentle even. “But I've always had a soft spot for Tina. And her gut instincts do tend to be correct. She told you she found your suitcase?”

Newt nodded, tightly; the letter was tucked safely in his waistcoat pocket. But he was more distracted by the fact that Graves was not wearing a tie, and had not done up the top two buttons of his shirt, revealing the hollow of his throat. Somehow, that glimpse of private skin was more distracting than the press of the washcloth on his wrists – until Graves replaced it with his own hands. Newt started.

“Sorry,” Graves said, undoubtedly thinking he had hurt Newt, rather than send a pleasant tingle of sensation up his arms. “I'm just going to bandage these. I must say I'm rather glad we found you when we did.”

“Yes,” Newt mumbled, watching the other man wrap soft white bandages around his wrists with a very medical efficiency. “I am, too.”

_Don't think about it,_ he told himself. _Don't think about what could have happened. Think about..._

About what? The very lithe figure of his rescuer? The gentle brush of his calloused fingertips? _Bugger_.

Far too soon, Graves was finished and getting to his feet. “Tina should be here by tomorrow afternoon, and she'll have your case with her,” he said. “Until then, try to stay here. You're not under suspicion, but it's safe here, and Tina would do something very violent to me if I lost track of you. Yes?”

Newt tipped his head to the side. For the first time since his meeting with the other man, he forced an awkward smile onto his face. “That sounds like one of those orders disguised as a question,” he said.

“More a request,” Graves corrected. “You're a grown man, after all, and this isn't my country. If you feel like escaping out the window, why, the best I can do is lean out and ask very nicely for you to come back.”

Newt laughed. It felt good.

.

Night came, though, and with it the catacombs. The eyes that glinted in torchlight, the hands where flesh had dropped away like flimsy paper, revealing yellowed bone, crackling tendons. No one had seen an inferius for centuries. No one even liked to talk about it.

But they were there, below Paris. The Aurors had poked and prodded and questioned him, but try as he might, Newt could not remember the way back there; and he knew they didn't believe him, not really. _Overactive imagination_ , he could hear them think. _Not at all like Theseus_.

He woke hot and sweaty and frightened, heart hammering in his chest. Pulling free of the blankets that had twisted around him he stumbled to his window and pried it open, leaning out to gulp in the sultry night air of London.

He smelt cigarette smoke.

“Decided to escape after all, have we?” Graves asked.

There, at the next window, was MACUSA's Director of Security, smoking a cigarette. The city seemed to glitter in his eyes and the smoked hazed around his face. He appeared unearthly, surreal. Beautiful.

“Just needed some fresh air,” Newt said. Too late he remembered his appearance, and hastily wiped the sweat off his brow with his bandaged forearm.

“How about a drink?” Graves asked.

.

Newt would be the first to admit he was not a social person, but he was scared and he didn't want to be alone.

Graves drank whiskey of the Canadian variety; apparently, bourbon was in short supply in New York. It all tasted pretty terrible to Newt, in any case, but he understood the fortifying effects of it well enough. “I only have ice,” Graves said.

“Ice is fine,” Newt replied.

He expected Graves to command the best room in the place, but rather he had chosen only a room with a bed and a writing table. As a result, Newt sat on the only chair, while Graves sat at the foot of his bed. The ashtray at the window already had the remains of several cigarettes doused within it, making Newt wonder how long Graves had been sitting at the window, smoking. “Can't sleep either?”

“It's more that it's the wrong time in New York,” the other man said, holding out a glass to Newt, who took it. “I'm supposed to be awake right now. And you? Nightmares?”

Newt paused, the glass at his lips. “No,” he said, automatically. And then, “Excuse me?”

“I believe you, by the way,” he said instead of answering, moving to sit down on the edge of the bed again. “About the Inferi.”

“You're the only one who does.”

“You only need one believer when the believer is an important bastard,” Graves replied, with an edge of self-mockery that made Newt smile. “And Tina will believe you, as well.”

“So you'll go looking?”

Graves shrugged. “Hard to say,” he said. “This isn't my jurisdiction. We're only here because the Ministy of Magic has a hard time saying no to Seraphina. And you said this was in France. It's a bit of a red tape nightmare. But you were captured by a dark wizard, and we have every intent in cooperating to track whoever it is down.”

Newt considered his whiskey, before taking a sip. It burned, slowly, all the way down his throat, and he closed his eyes, somehow enjoying it. “How did you know I had nightmares?” he asked. “Are you some kind of mind-reader?”

“I can read faces,” Graves said. “Eyes. Hands. People are open books, Maj and No-Maj alike.”

Newt huffed in exasperation, and took a mouthful of whiskey before regretting it immediately. His huff turned into a cough. “Impressive,” he managed.

Graves was smiling at him. Laughing at his inability to take a drink? The other man leaned forward and placed his own glass on the ground, by his feet. “Get on the bed, Mr Scamander,” he said, kindly.

Newt thanked whatever deity there was that he wasn't taking another swig of whiskey when he heard that. He felt his mouth go dry, his heart thumping painfully against his ribs. “Excuse me?” he managed.

“I told you,” Graves said. “People are open books. Get on the bed.”

.

He wasn't sure what to expect, but certainly not finding himself face down on the bed with the other man's body draped lazily over top. He was warm, firm, and while Newt was taller, Graves had several pounds more muscle.

“Just calm down,” Graves murmured in his ear, smoothing his fingers through Newt's hair. “Fear is just an illusion. We are here, on the surface, and the dead will stay in the ground.”

Newt took a deep breath. The weight of Graves atop him was oddly soothing, like some kind of blanket that protected him. “The way they moved...” he mumbled.

But then he felt the other man's mouth – rough teeth, hot tongue – scraping over the shell of his ear and he moaned. “If you want me to stop at any time, then tell me,” Graves murmured.

“Keep going,” he breathed.

He did. Graves' hands smoothed up and down his sides, rubbing the small of his back and digging again into his hair, nails against the scalp and along his neck. Newt inhaled and exhaled deeply, letting himself get lost in the rhythm of it. It was hypnotic and intense, so much so that he was barely aware of his own arousal until he found himself grinding down against the mattress with a barely suppressed moan.

At that Graves moved, so quickly that Newt didn't even have time to be startled. He rolled them both so they were on their sides, Graves still at Newt's back, and opened up the front of his pyjamas to run his hands over Newt's chest, thumbing roughly at a nipple.

Newt groaned. His face felt hot – was it arousal, embarrassment, or both? He couldn't be sure, but he knew he wanted more, _just a bit more_. “Touch me,” he begged, because somehow it didn't occur to him to use his own hands at all. It seemed clear to him that Graves meant for him to be pliant, relaxed, subdued – not a power play, no. Graves was tending to him, to his fear and his desire and his anxiety.

Newt was just allowing himself to be treated by a professional.

He felt the callouses of Graves' palm skim over his stomach before the tug at his waistband told him his drawstring was being undone. He let out a hiss of barely contained pleasure as he felt the other's hand wrap around his cock.

He let himself get swept up in it, in every sensation; the warm body at his back, the hand stroking the length of his cock, the breath at his neck. Graves was talking to him, murmuring something, but Newt figured it wasn't really important; it was just the man's voice he needed, low and soothing, like a cat's purr.

When he came he was almost surprised, jerking his hips forward and producing a strangled sound. He was limp, boneless. He had the strange sensation of having just been well-fucked even though he still had all his clothes on.

In a pleasant daze, it took him a moment to realize Graves had exited the bed and had tucked the blanket securely around him. In a trice he was at the window, perched on the ledge, one foot up, the other dangling down, toes brushing the floor. The man hadn't even taken his shoes off, Newt realized, feeling both incredulous and giddy.

“Go to sleep now, Scamander,” he said, swiping a match and lighting another cigarette. His face, so beautiful, was momentarily lit by the flame. But then it was gone, leaving just the burning end of his cigarette, and the nighttime lights of London through the window frame. “I'll watch over you.”

Newt buried his head under the covers and slept.


	3. Seraphina and Percival - fire burn and cauldron buble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For giftfromthevalar on tumblr, who requested some platonic Sera and Percival.  
> I set the story around 1910ish, so they're both in their twenties and are mucking around the lower rungs of MACUSA still.

Seraphina's place was something of a mess – undergarments slung over a drying rack, dirty dishes in the sink, absolutely nothing in the icebox. Likely because she had just returned from a trip to England and had decided that a stiff drink was more important than tidying up – which Percival respected. She had sent him a message as soon as she had touched back down on American soil, and since Halloween – a night where Maj and No-Maj alike went wild, playing tricks on neighbours and vandalizing the streets – was not for another week, he was more than able to make the time for a visit.

While Percival would rather she tell him about the nightlife, she was more interested in complaining about the stuffy Englishmen she'd been forced to work with. Seraphina being Seraphina, though, she didn't like to linger on things which brought her down. Thus there was an air of celebration surrounding her complaining, a joyous exclamation of having escaped the dimly lit boardrooms and borish voices of her Ministry of Magic counterparts and finally returning to the brisk, efficient air of New York, New York.

They were in her kitchen, Percival seated at the table while Seraphina attempted to wrangle up something to eat. On the table itself were cigarettes, a lighter, and a bottle of Jim Beam.

“And they think _we're_ in the dark ages,” she laughed, waving her wand, conjuring up bits of food and tableware that began to flutter all around. Within seconds the smell of hot oil and spices began to fill the apartment. “They're all still wearing spangly purple and silver robes and look at me like I must have gotten lost on my way from the train station. They thought my clothes were _so_ strange. 'Isn't that how muggles dress?' You know, I don't understand their insistence that we be free to mingle with No-Majs, when the majority of their population doesn't even know about electricity, let alone how to go shopping in a department store without giving themselves away. How can you mingle if you're worried about a draft going up your robe?” She paused, stopping herself mid-tirade. “Am I being a snob?”

“Yes,” Percival said with a grin, lighting a cigarette. “But that's fine. Tell me more.”

She shook her finger at him. “No, tell me about California. Has an actress fallen for you yet?”

He took a drag of his cigarette. “One day, perhaps a blind one.”

“Oh, Perce, you're as handsome as they come,” Sera said, fondly. “You just need to come up for air every now and then instead of drowning in work. _Then_ you'll get noticed.”

“I don't think I'm the marrying type.”

“Who said anything about marriage?”

Percival snorted, waving his hand. The ash tray sitting at the windowsill floated over to him. “You're getting incorrigible,” he remarked. “It's all the politics.”

She just grinned devilishly and shrugged. Another swipe of her wand had plates settling themselves down on the table, piled with food despite the lacklustre state of her cabinets. “Aha! Here we go. Fried okra, like my mother makes it. Now, why don't you pull your weight and make us a drink?”

He stubbed out his cigarette. “Very well,” he said, exhaling his last draw of smoke, leaning forward. “I'll go all dark ages like your sad old Englishman and make it with my own two hands.”

“No, if there's one thing they like doing across the ocean, it's using a wand for everything,” Sera joked, sitting down. “Glasses are-”

“I know where they are.” He fished them out of the top cabinet and returned, setting one in front of her, the other at his vacant seat. He cracked open the lid and poured them both generous helpings of Jim. “There you go, with an extra bit of flair. Double double, toil and trouble.”

She lifted her glass. “Fire burn and cauldron bubble,” she toasted with a smile, and they tapped their glasses together. “It's good to be back.”


	4. Newt Scamander and a Bunch of Lizards - Lizard Ghosts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For hellofeanor on tumblr. Actually to be specific the request was ''Newt and lizards. So many lizards. Like... an absurdly unreasonable number of lizards. Extreme lizard situation." After prodding for a spooky prompt the response was "ghost lizards".
> 
> And I will never say no to ghost lizards. Bonus: Tina being cute.

The lizards were everywhere. Or that is, they were everywhere on Newt. Clinging to his legs and arms, riding on his back and shoulders, nestling at the hollow of his throat. Even one on the top of each shoe. He had to move very slowly and in a sort of bow-legged walk, lest he accidentally bang the heads together of the lizards clutching his thighs. In fact, he was so swarmed that there wasn’t any room for Pickett, who was currently sulking on his tree with the other bowtruckles.

“Uh, Newt,” Tina said, as she watched him attempt to feed the moon calves like that. “Why are you like that?”

“Like-? Oh, covered in lizards?” Newt acted like this was not the obvious subject Tina was referring to.

“Yes,” Tina said. They were all different types and colours, but none of them larger than her own hand. “That.”

“I’m not sure,” he admitted, tossing out a few more pellets. Very, very slowly. “They sort of just… came in with me.”

The suitcase was currently sitting on the floor of a guest room Jacob and Queenie had taken for their honeymoon… in South America, naturally, where the laws were far more lenient to their marriage. Newt had taken advantage of the trip to see some new creatures for his book, and Tina had gone along with him because, as her boss had put it, “You haven’t had a vacation in two years and it’s messing up payroll.”

They were two days in and Tina was considering fleeing for the relative safety of New York very soon. It wasn’t the lizards, she liked them. It was the disgusting romantic conversation between her sister and Tina’s new brother-in-law that was driving her up the wall. Hence why she found herself in the suitcase or the jungle with Newt more often than not.

“You’re not going to keep them, are you?” she asked. She knew Newt only kept beasts that he needed to rescue or rehabilitate, but she wanted to be sure.

He shook his head, to her relief. “No, I’ll take them back out soon. I think they’re just scared.”

“Poor little fellows,” Tina said.

“Would you like to hold one?”

She grinned. “Of course.”

 

Dinnertime rolled around. Newt absolutely could not sit down with everyone for a meal while covered in lizards; Jacob and Queenie made that very clear.

“No, you stay,” Newt told Tina, when she offered to keep him company. “I’m going to see if I can get them to go home.”

It was dark and sultry out amongst the trees. The air was alive with whistles and calls. Newt always found that people made noise, but creatures made music. He stepped carefully so as not to dislodge his reptilian friends.

“You all must go home,” he said, frankly. “There are bugs for you to eat, and trees for you to climb. Go on now.” He gave his arm a half-hearted shake, and several of the lizards made a sort of chirping croak that made him feel very bad, indeed. “Oh. I’m so sorry.”

What could the problem be? Was there a predator? Newt was usually quite good at picking up signals, though, and he didn’t think the lizards were seeking protection. Comfort, perhaps? Did they just enjoy his specific body temperature?

He decided to troop back to the place in the trees where the lizards had swarmed him in the first place as he had knelt in the loam, looking for animal tracks. It was a place where some of the tree canopy wasn’t completely thick, so bits of moonlight bathed the place here and there.

The lizards all began to chirp, the combination of their many voices so loud it echoed in his head. One lizard scampered to the top of his skull, and he had a feeling it wanted him to look up. He did.

There, amongst the tree branches, were more lizards. But these ones were silvery, pale things, and Newt could see the moonlight within them.

“Ah,” Newt said. He wondered, beneath his feet, how many lizard bones were buried there.

 

“You’re still covered in lizards,” Tina pointed out, when he returned to their cabin.

“I know,” Newt said. “Will you help me with something?”

“Of course.”

Together they went back to the small area where the ghost lizards swarmed. He knew Tina saw them in the trees, but she said nothing. Instead, unfettered by lizards as she was, she was able to pile several large rocks together. With a wave of her wand she transformed one into a hefty stony iguana. “There,” she said, as they watched it clamber onto and bask among the rocks. “A guardian for you all.”

The creatures descended from Newt in a wave. They scampered over the undergrowth, some of them crawling lightning fast over Tina, where she knelt on the ground, before disappearing into the jungle. “Thank you,” Newt said, honestly.

She just smiled, pleased. “Any time.”


	5. Percival/Tina - Nice Costume

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For mulder-wtf on tumblr, "Goldgraves/Gen. Tina complements Graves' costume and tries to guess who he is dressed up as. It's just Graves' regular Fashion Is My Profession suit."   
> It was time for a modern AU! Bonus Seraphina and Queenie being drunkards. Well, everyone's a drunkard in this technically.

Tina was not someone who went out, as a rule, but it was Halloween weekend, and therefore non-negotiable. She just couldn’t help glaring at all the mischief that went on all around her, which was an occupational hazard when you were a cop. Well, detective.

But she had the night off, and Queenie insisted. They were both dressed as fairies – Queenie as something frothy and pink, Tina in purple and black and covered in Gothic makeup. It was like high school all over again.

She pushed her way to the bar, feeling somewhat more commanding than usual with the amount of cleavage she was flashing. “Gin and tonic, please,” she shouted above the music. After forking over the cash and a sizeable tip, she took her drink, turned, and ran straight into someone else.

The gods were smiling down on her, because she managed to only spill a little bit of her drink, and it was mostly on her own hand. “I’m so sorry,” she said. Dressed in her heels, she had to look down – just ever so slightly – at the man she had ran into. She immediately felt like her mouth was full of cotton, a normal response when looking at someone who might have just walked right off the cover of GQ.

“It’s not a problem,” he said.

They stood there, staring at each other for a moment; the kind of electrically charged moment that Tina was convinced only happened to other people. Finally he broke the (metaphorical, since they were in a noisy nightclub) silence. “Nice costume,” he said.

Finally, a lifeline she could grab onto. “Thanks!” she exclaimed. “I like yours, too. Are you, like, a movie character?”

He gave her an amused look. “These are just my clothes,” he said.

Tina felt her entire face grow hot. “Um, I have to go find my sister,” she said, and fled.

Queenie laughed hysterically when Tina told her. “You’re classic,” she said, giving her a warm, sweet hug. “Come on. Let’s have some shots.”

As if the evening wasn’t getting weird enough, as the night rolled on and things got progressively more blurry, Tina ran into her boss.

She didn’t realize it was her boss at first. She thought it was just some random woman dressed like – of all things – a sushi roll, slinging her arm around Tina’s shoulder in the usual we’re-all-friends-on-Halloween mood. Not until she barked, “Goldstein! Buy me a drink!”

“Captain Picquery?” Tina asked, dazed.

“Tequila!” Picquery shouted.

After a shot of tequila, and another, Tina judged it was high time the captain of her precinct went home. While Tina herself was drunk, Picquery was in another phase entirely (though Tina noted, with some jealousy, that while her boss couldn’t walk in a straight line not a single hair was out of place and she was fresh-faced and rosy). Tina, on the other hand, had smeared most of her makeup, crushed her fairy wings and lost her flower crown somewhere.

“Up we go,” she said, helping Picquery up the stairs. Queenie trailed behind, looking amused. “Let’s get you a cab.”

“Wait!” Picquery said, halting at the top. “I can’t leave without Percy.”

“Who’s Percy?” Queenie asked, curiously. “Your boyfriend?”

Picquery burst out laughing.

Tina gave Queenie the job of stopping Picquery from buying anything from the hot dog vendor while she commandeered her captain’s phone and texted ‘Perce’. _Seraphina needs to go home, she refuses to leave without you, please meet us on the corner._

She waited a moment, and then the phone dinged. _Currently being accosted by drunk ladypirates, will grab coat and be there soon._

Tina snorted and texted back. _Poor bastard_.

 _Why thank you_.

Queenie had lost the battle, and both she and Picquery were eating hot dogs. When Tina complained, Queenie revealed she had put a large dollop of mustard on one half of the hot dog, revealing her intention to share.

Tina had taken a few bites, drunkenly attempting not to get mustard on her face – and failing – when she saw Queenie laugh. “Oh, my goodness,” she exclaimed. “ _You’re_ Percy?”

Tina turned and there was Mr GQ. She choked on her mouthful of food.

“Oh, hi Queenie,” he said, smiling, and wrangling Picquery into her coat (difficult, since she had a salmon-shaped pillow strapped to her back). There was lipstick on his cheek.

“Tina, this is Mr Graves,” Queenie said, happily, as Tina tried to clean the mustard from her face. “He works in the same building as me.”

“You have lipstick on your cheek,” Picquery said. Graves swiped it with the back of his hand, muttering something about _damn pirates_.

Somehow they ended up sharing a cab. There was an entertaining moment where Picquery, transported back to her days as a beat cop, placed her hand atop Percival’s head and forced him into the backseat like he was a perp. Then Tina was squished up against him, while Queenie sat in the front giving the taxi driver their address.

“So you’re Queenie’s sister,” Graves said, after a moment.

“Yeah,” Tina said. “Um. I’m also one of Captain Picquery’s detectives.”

He raised his eyebrows. Was it her, or did he look impressed? “Really.”

“Yes.” She paused. “Uh. Really.”

“You are an incredibly awkward person.”

She coughed. “Yeah, I know.”

“It’s adorable.”

“What?”

“Ok, we’re here!” Queenie trilled, opening her door and spilling out onto the pavement, quite literally. Cursing, Tina struggled with her seatbelt.

“No, we’ve got this,” he said, when she tried to shove a wad of money at him for the cab fare. “Thanks for cutting Sera off. She doesn’t really listen to me when tequila’s involved.”

“No problem,” Tina said, getting out of the car and hauling Queenie to her feet. She heard Graves roll down the window and she looked back at him, curiously.

He stuck his head out. “If I asked Sera for your number, would that be inappropriate?” he asked.

“Maybe a little,” Tina blurted out without thinking. She stared at him, mortified at her own ability to burn bridges she really wanted to cross. Queenie started giggling.

“Go for it!” she shouted. “You’re hot and she likes you!”

“Shut up,” Tina hissed, beginning to drag Queenie up the steps to their building.

“I’ll call you tomorrow!” Percival yelled. Tina waved her hand, not looking back. She couldn’t even scold Queenie, since as soon as they got inside their apartment, she threw up in the nearest vase.


	6. Percival/Tina - Devil's Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> erinpagewrites on tumblr (mask_and_mirror on AO3!) requested Goldgraves to the prompt Devil's Night. According to wikipedia, "Devil's Night is a name associated with October 30, the night before Halloween. It is related to the "Mischief night" practiced in parts of the United States, but is chiefly associated with the serious vandalism and arson seen in Detroit, Michigan from the 1970s to the 1990s" ([source](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Devil%27s_Night))  
> This is straight up nsfw smut, y'all.

Just as the streetlights came on after dark, so too did the fires dotting the city. Sirens wailed in the night, radios crackled with reports of vandalism, danger, mischief. Gunshots echoed down alleyways and in homes. Though Rappaport’s Law had long since dissolved, still the wizarding world kept its distance on this night. It was a problem for the No-Majs to solve, and no one else.

Percival watched Tina. She was standing at the window, smoking. Her loose robe had come off her shoulder, revealing skin mottled with bruises, but her neck was clear and elegant, her hair mussed from the attention of his own two hands. He could not see her face, but he could imagine her expression: distant, glassy even, lost in thought.

“Are you going to stand there all night?” he asked.

Smoke bloomed around her as she exhaled. “Maybe,” she said. “Doesn’t it ever bother you?” He knew she meant the fires, the destruction.

“Of course,” he answered. “But no more than all the other things. Come to bed.”

She turned, taking her cigarette from her lips. Her robe fell open, revealing one breast, and she smiled at him, halfway shy, halfway predatory. She was the finest Auror at MACUSA, unafraid of danger – hence the bruises on her skin, which never seemed to fade (she always got new ones before the old ones disappeared) – and after a bit of a hiccup early in her career her footing had been nothing but fierce and steady. It was with that single-minded determination she had pursued him, one day, when they had bumped into each other on the street. “I have never wanted anything quite so badly as you,” she’d claimed.

Now they were there, together, every night, warm bed and cool lighting.

“You’re insatiable, Mr Graves,” she said, stubbing out her cigarette.

“So are you.”

She laughed and went to him, slipping off her robe and sliding under the bedsheets. She pressed against him, finding that spot where they were perfectly aligned, fit together like pieces of the same puzzle. He turned, pushing her down against the mattress, settling on top of her. She produced a soft, pleased sound in her throat.

“Devil’s Night,” she murmured, as he nibbled at her earlobe. “That’s what they call it. They’re just as bad as us, you know.”

“I know,” he said, trailing his lips down over her neck.

She ran her fingertips up his arm, to the back of his neck, her touch light and ticklish and distracting. “Help me forget,” she breathed.

He kissed her, slowly at first; but she arched underneath him and soon it turned rough, needy, mouths practically chasing each other. When finally he came up for air she simply attached her teeth to his neck, scraping down the sensitive skin of his throat, making him groan.

She was warm and tense against him, writhing, but it was the heat between her legs that was most distracting; they way she hooked one leg over his hip and ground against him, his hardening cock slipping through her folds, slick with want. Often he would go down on her, playing her body like an instrument, causing her to keen and moan until she was begging and ready. But sometimes she just needed to fuck, and she always let him know when.

She rolled her hips up and it was all the encouragement he needed, reaching down and grabbing her around the waist, knees finding purchase on the mattress as he hiked her up a bit and pushed inside of her. She produced a _delicious_ moan, curling up beneath him, nails scratching up his back. Their mouths crashed against each other for a moment, but it was too awkward, too stiff at that angle, and finally she let herself fall back against the bed.

He pulled out and then buried himself inside of her, again, and again, hips shoving between her own, forcing her legs wider. Tina groaned and took him, clutching one hand at his shoulder, the other tangled in his hair, digging into his scalp, nails drawing blood. The pain was dim and secondary to his desire; he could barely think, barely breathe as he focused only on her, the way it felt to be inside her, her breasts dragging against his chest as she bucked.

She jammed her heel against the bed and twisted beneath him, pushing to the side; he took her cue and rolled onto his back, bringing her with him. She was absolutely beautiful hovering above him, cheeks and breasts flushed with desire, hair a halo around her face. He grabbed at her hips, supporting her as she wrenched on top of him, nails dragging over his chest, catching against one of his nipples, before reaching up and gripping tightly at the headboard. The room filled with the sound of flesh on flesh, the bed banging against the wall. The chaos of their bedroom was lost in the madness that sprawled through the city around them; but it was all heedless, uncaring, passionate, just like them.

They finished like that, Tina still riding him, arching her back and blossoming like a flower before falling down atop him. He watched her place her ear to his chest and listen to the thud of his heart while they both tried to catch their breath.

“I fucking love you,” she managed. He ran his fingers through her hair, tilted her head up, and kissed her.

Outside, the sirens wailed.


End file.
